


Red Camellia Rum

by WondaCat



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alexis | Quackity Angst, Alexis | Quackity-centric, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Canon Gay Relationship, Canon-Typical Violence, Cock Warming, Creampie, Deepthroating, Domestic Violence, Dream Team SMP Spoilers, Dry Orgasm, Established Relationship, Explicit Language, Face-Fucking, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Insane Wilbur Soot, Inspired by Roleplay/Roleplay Adaptation, M/M, Maybe A Little Plot, Mild Painplay, Mild S&M, Multiple Orgasms, Office Sex, Overstimulation, Past Character Death, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Pre-Manberg-Pogtopia War on Dream Team SMP (Video Blogging RPF), Quackity Betrays Schlatt, Quackity and Tubbo Were Friends, Quackity's A Freak, Spanking, Tommy just wants to help, Toxic Relationship, Tubbo's Execution is briefly explored, Villain Jschlatt (Video Blogging RPF)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-28
Updated: 2020-11-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:34:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27748333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WondaCat/pseuds/WondaCat
Summary: When Quackity joins forces with Tommy and Wilbur, he's content to leave his past with Schlatt behind him. But when the life of an exiled grows harsh and unforgiving, he starts to have second thoughts.(AKA, an Alternate Universe where Quackity returns to Schlatt after his betrayal.)
Relationships: Alexis | Quackity & Jschlatt, Alexis | Quackity & Toby Smith | Tubbo, Alexis | Quackity & TommyInnit, Alexis | Quackity/Jschlatt, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Comments: 46
Kudos: 782





	Red Camellia Rum

**Author's Note:**

> The following is based on the Dream SMP storyline. I don't write RPF. All characters mentioned below are separate from their actors/exist only in roleplay. Enjoy!

Tubbo’s execution had left a cruel mark on Alex Quackity. No matter where he went, it would return to bathe in his mind. The smoke rising as he choked on the ashes in the air. The blood staining the stage floor. The wailing that washed through the streets as The Blade shot into the crowd gazed at the spectacle.

Amidst it all, President Schlatt—his superior—was laughing. His nose flared and his eyes glowed as he bellowed out with joy, wholly absorbed into a madness unlike anything Quackity had ever seen. When he returned to the Grand Hall that evening, he was surprised to find Schlatt waiting there for him. His arms outstretched to him with a gentle wave. His eyes held an air of contempt beneath the warmth.

Quackity noticed it instantly. A poorly hidden hostility. He entered the embrace regardless.  
“I’m terribly sorry you had to witness that,” Schlatt said, his tone void of remorse, “You understand why I had to do that, don’t you?” Quackity held his breath.  
“Of course.”

They fought too frequently for lovers. Tubbo even thought so too. Quackity could read when Schlatt was wearing thin. When their arguments reached their peak, Quackity was usually left with a bruise or two. Sometimes he could narrowly avoid the outburst by letting him do as he pleased without protest.

Other times, he would simply leave and let Schlatt take his anger out on Tubbo. Quackity would feign concern when the teenage secretary left Schlatt’s office with a horrible red mark on his cheek. Tubbo would appreciate the sparse kindness, never noticing how Quackity always had a First AID kit at the ready for him.

At some point in time, when their relationship was young, Quackity enjoyed when Schlatt made love to him. He loved when Schlatt would trace a hand down his inner thigh under the table during meetings. How Schlatt would sometimes grab his ass when he passed by. Now, when Schlatt felt an urge, he’d demand Quackity give himself up right then and there.

Quackity found it sexy at first, but soon it started to physically hurt when his lover would sacrifice preparation in order to save time for himself. Being used so fully, so recklessly—it danced the line between agonizing and degrading. Coupled with Schlatt’s unceasing insults to his appearance, the times where he fucks him are when he feels the most wanted. When they were in public, Schlatt would play with Quackity’s hair and kiss him sweetly, but behind closed doors, his hands would tremble if Schlatt raised his voice.

As time went by, Schlatt’s violent fits became harder to predict. Refusing to protest against his wishes failed to calm his rage. After Tubbo’s death, there was no one else to share in the abuse with. It was Quackity’s own burden to bear. Tubbo’s unfinished work also went to Quackity, who would spend days and nights filling both of their roles.

Filing paperwork, reading reports from the Guard, complaints from Manburg’s citizens. His eyes would drift shut, his pen hovering over the soft white parchment. All too soon, he had reached his breaking point. During a particularly horrible public fight, Schlatt didn’t strike Quackity from the pressure of onlooking bystanders.

At that moment, it became instantly clear that Schlatt only cared for the image of a powerful couple who ruled together. He wanted a piece of arm-candy, nothing more. With a few more spiteful parting words, it was over. Quackity stormed off into the forest to cry. When Tommy Innit—the exiled and disgraced—left the cover of safety to greet him, it surprised them both.

When Tommy reached out his hand in offering as a way to join him, it was only a surprise to Tommy when Quackity took it. Their conversations spiraled without direction as they journeyed through the forest. Tommy had many questions, mostly about his friends Niki and Fundy. It was a relief beyond anything in the world to vent to him about Schlatt’s cruel treatment. He had glossed over many details in his recount, but it was still freeing all the same.

Tommy led him out between the trees, farther and farther into the wilderness. Arriving at Tommy and Wilbur’s hideout, Quackity was astonished at just how much closer it was to Manburg than he’d thought. Pushing past a cover of dirt and brush, they entered the cracked mouth of a great tunnel, its stone ceilings high and damp. As they traversed deeper into the cave system, Tommy glanced back and offered him a comforting smile.

Descending a winding staircase and squeezing through a tight space in the wall, the pair stepped out into the light. Quackity was speechless. A homely warmth shined down onto them, burning bright within the overhead lanterns. It glowed a gentle gold against his skin. A set of intricate support beams slanted across the narrow ravine.

Miles and miles across, weaponry hung along the walls. The rooms were dug from the side of crag cliffs, with crates piled high with salvaged produce and grain. Quackity gazed around in awe, his hands tracing the carvings in stone, overflowing with work and skill across months. Tommy and Quackity only spoke twice more before Wilbur appeared. Catching sight of the two in the ravine below, Wilbur made a strange expression.

Tommy shifted uncomfortably in place, fiddling with the sheath of his dagger. Quackity noticed the way the teenager’s eyes darted around erratically—how he held his breath and scraped his boot against the rocky ground. Tubbo had many of the same habits, only truly visible when he suffered under the scrutinizing gaze of his boss. For a single, fleeting moment, Quackity could trick himself into believing that kind secretary was still alive.

Wilbur approached the pair, studying Quackity carefully. Tommy faked a smile as he pulled Wilbur away to talk privately. Quackity was left alone. Sitting against the rough stone floor, his thoughts only returned to Schlatt. He was happy away from him, that was no question.

Even still, a pain bloomed in the center of his chest—a red, bleeding camellia. Its petals twisted and wound together confusingly. It ached and ate at his bones like a degenerative disease. Yet, there was an unbridled joy... Oh, the joy.

How he soared above clouds as the warm satin air tickled his skin. The way he grinned and buzzed with a nervous, hyper energy. Quackity sighed, closed his eyes, and leaned his head against the wall of the cavern. He couldn’t help but wonder what Schlatt was doing. He couldn’t help imagining a gentle hand in his hair, the grooves of horns, and the softness of petting his lover’s goat ears and little tail.

Sitting up, he pulled his navy beanie off and carded his fingers through his own dark hair. The moment was instantly disappointing. A long ways down, there was an indistinct shouting from Wilbur and his apprentice.

He could just make out the sum of occasional sentences—sour words of how Tommy needed to ask permission for something. A petty insult was thrown back at Wilbur. More echoed phrases of frustration. When the shouting finally stopped, the two returned.

Quackity stood and waited for either of them to say something. Tommy glanced up expectantly at Wilbur, who sighed. He grabbed a carrot from one of the crates and limply placed it in Quackity’s hands.  
“What are you—”  
“Eat,” Wilbur said, cutting Quackity off, “You’re hungry, aren’t you?”

Quackity nodded. “Then what’s mine is yours, I guess.” Wilbur turned and walked off. Tommy grinned proudly, hooking an arm around Quackity’s shoulder.

“You’re one of us, alright?” Tommy said, “We’ve got your back now, big man. Schlatt won’t hurt you anymore.”  
“Thank you, Tommy.” Quackity could only frown.

Weeks soon passed as Quackity got himself familiar with his new home. The warmth from the lamps had soon worn off. So did his first impressions of their hideout. During the night, he shivered under the many layers of blankets, his teeth clattering endlessly. Walls, floor, and roof grew frigid and icy to the touch.

The eternal dripping from the ceiling kept him awake at night, his bed horribly uncomfortable. The food was dry and bland, the baths were always cold, and the rooms much too dark. Boredom quickly set in after just a day. The only game Tommy knew how to play became stale after several hours. He had also exhausted all conversation topics with the young apprentice.

Talking with Wilbur was impossible. Quackity noticed how little Wilbur was actually involved with Tommy’s activities—how standoffish he seemed. When Wilbur did join them, he rarely spoke. He would usually sit in his own corner and stare at the wall for hours at a time.

Sometimes he would carve things into it with a dagger. Out of curiosity, while the two were sleeping, Quackity got up to study it. All down its surface, there was a series of nonsense words. Oftentimes, there were the names of people—Tommy, Sally, Fundy, Niki. Yet there was only one word he repeated endlessly on all corners, its lettering scratchy and distorted—L’Manburg.

The previous name of his fair home. Quackity swallowed hard, his hands shaking against his sides. Wilbur must have lost his mind a long time ago. After getting a taste of the life he’d lived for months, he could understand why.

Time scraped by as slowly as winter came and went. The minutes ticked on as the seconds stretched and pulled, a wavering mirage cast against the walls of the ravine. The only constant was Quackity, his mind, and his thoughts of Schlatt. How they haunted him while he talked to Tommy, while he bathed, while he ate, while he slept.

It was as if all things reminded him of that man. His beautiful eyes, his sharp ram horns, his dark hair, the scratch of his facial hair as he kissed him, his nails digging into his hips. Quackity shivered.

He shouldn’t want him—not after leaving. Not after realizing what he was really after. Not after knowing he was just being used. Yet, the thoughts wouldn’t leave him.

The idea of Schlatt was striking, tempting, and brighter than the sun. It burned his skin with sweat and bathed his hands with blood. The way Schlatt used to look at him—it took his breath away. Quackity’s hand ghosted over a nearly-faded bruise on his ribs. The last physical memory of his superior.

He pressed his fingers into it and shut his eyes. The pressure burned sweetly. The thought of being struck by his lover’s fist did funny things to his head. His knees grew weak, his face blooming into a soft red.

Tommy never had a chance to wake up. Tommy never had a chance to convince him—to help him. Quackity had already left the mouth of the cave. He stumbled through the dark forest in the only direction he knew. His path pointed home.

Thoughts of hot baths, seasoned meals, and soft sheets were singing like a choir in his head. As he entered the outskirts of Manburg, the cobblestone paths beneath his feet gleamed a cold white. Its light only welcomed him back. The closer he drew to the Grand Hall, the louder his heart would scream. The beating in his chest only drew him in, its incessant banging a plea to either run or fall into the arms of his ex-lover.

Grasping the handle of the heavy oak door, he held his breath. He had plenty of time to turn and run, to return to Tommy with an excuse for disappearing. And yet, he’d already come so far. President Schlatt was just inside, awaiting him.

His free hand lifted and brushed at the hair loose from his beanie. He pulled on it gently and turned it over in his fingers, imagining it was Schlatt. The idea alone sent a chill up his spine. Butterflies awoke in his chest, crawling and fluttering with soft red wings. At this, he closed his eyes, held tight, and pushed the door open.

Darkness was all that greeted him on the other side. The lamps were stone cold to the touch, unlit since Quackity had left. Stepping through each familiar room ignited a strange feeling in his chest.

A flare akin to nostalgia or longing—it soured the sweetness on his tongue. He quickly found his old desk, still piled high with unfinished paperwork. His stomach went cold at the sight of it.

Turning, he ventured down the hall that led to President Schlatt’s office. At the end of it, a golden light poured out through the crack in the door, ending just at the tips of his feet. He could feel Schlatt’s presence, just behind it. He swallowed dryly, approaching with tepid, quick steps. With a hand against the soft wood, it was too late to turn and run.

Even if his mind screamed at him to do so, his body moved without agency. Fingers shaking, heart thumping violently, red strings tugged his limbs forward—his mind, a helpless witness. He gently opened the door.

Schlatt tilted his head to stare at him from across the room, his hand resting on an unopened bottle of rum. He smiled, the corner of his mouth just a bit too crooked. Stepping inside, Quackity pushed the door shut behind him.  
“So my Vice President finally comes crawling back,” Schlatt said, rising to his feet with gentle grace, “You had me worried there for a second.”

Quackity couldn’t think of anything to say. His thoughts raced around him in circles. The real Schlatt and his idea of him were starting to split apart. Regret flooded his mind like a drug. “You should know that I missed you,” Schlatt admitted, his words hollow.

He opened his arms to him in a phantom gesture, mimicking all their shared moments of faux comfort. Quackity entered the embrace regardless. To his surprise, Schlatt didn’t stink of booze. His superior was perfectly and totally sober. But this thought only worried him more.

Schlatt wrapped his arms around him and squeezed, just hard enough for it to faintly hurt. He nuzzled the side of Quackity’s head, his horns barely grazing his neck.  
“Schlatt, I—I’m sorry for disappearing,” Quackity said slowly.

He pushed out of the hug and held his superior at arm’s length. “I hope you can forgive me.” Schlatt stared down at him with unblinking eyes. Then he laughed. A cold, broken sound that sent a sharp dread through every bone in his body.

Schlatt lifted a gentle hand and carded it through the soft tufts of hair peeking through his beanie. Quackity closed his eyes, content, as a shiver rolled down his spine. Schlatt’s fingers delicately traced down the side of his tanned face before gripping his chin with force, squeezing into the hollows of his cheeks. Quackity yelped in discomfort, but Schlatt only held fast and stared into his eyes with a stern expression.  
“You’re sorry? Quackity, isn’t that just a little pathetic? And after suddenly taking off like that?”

Quackity stared up at him wordlessly as he struggled to pull away. “If you really are sorry, why don’t you show me then?” Schlatt huffed as he released his jaw. Quackity rubbed at the soreness with his fingers, his body cowering down into a trembling heap. “Show me just how sorry you are!” Schlatt demanded, swiftly punching him in the shoulder.

Quackity fell to the floor, covering his mouth as he shook his head. He tried to think of any way to escape—to flee back to Tommy and apologize for even considering returning to Schlatt. And yet, the pain that spread through his shoulder was beautiful—a terrific burning in his flesh, an elegant ache in his bones. His knees grew weak as his head swam.

When he was struck again with a forceful kick to the side, he whimpered and panted—hot breath against his hand, drool pouring down his chin. His cheeks burned red as he looked up at his superior with a loving sheen in his dark eyes.

Schlatt noticed it instantly as his next strike hesitated and fell away. Instead, he grabbed the collar of Quackity’s shirt, pulling him closer to his face as he leaned down to meet him halfway. “What the fuck are you playing at?” Schlatt said in a low growl. Quackity snatched the goat-hybrid’s tie and pulled him down into a forceful kiss. Schlatt made a noise of surprise as Quackity bit his superior’s lower lip and pressed his tongue into his mouth.

Finally parting for air, Quackity smiled through a daze as thick as fog.  
“Hit me again, Schlatt,” Quackity said, his breath short and erratic. Schlatt stopped dead, a deer in the headlights. After a few seconds of thinking, he lifted his arm again and slapped Quackity hard across his cheek. It glowed an ever-brilliant red.

The sound of its impact was loud, but the sting on his skin was even louder. Quackity raised a hand to soothe it, the cool surface of his palm an impeccable contrast. His superior’s shoulders shook, his face ripe with confusion. Quackity panted as he tugged at his shirt collar, his clothes much too hot against his skin.

Shamefully, he could feel his own erection straining against his pants. Even the most subtle of movements gave it away. This growing need for friction was soon all his brain could supply to him. He locked eyes with his superior and languidly trailed a hand down to palm himself through his pants. Schlatt’s eyes followed his fingers.

He basked in the sight—the way his ex-lover’s breath hitched, how he swallowed dryly. Quackity continued to grind into his open hand, his voice breaking out into weird, stifled whines. As he reached down to unzip his fly, Schlatt tautly grabbed his wrist and pulled it away. Quackity groaned in frustration at the loss of friction.

The goat-hybrid leaned in close to his ear.  
“Quackity, did you get hard when I punched you?” he asked. Quackity whined at the feeling of his ex-lover’s hot breath ghosting his neck. He shivered. “Answer me,” Schlatt demanded with soft words, pressing harsh kisses into his jawline.

Quackity opened his mouth to reply, but his voice broke off as Schlatt bit down and nibbled at the shell of his ear.  
“I—Yes, sir… I did.” At this confirmation, Schlatt abruptly stood and kneed Quackity viciously in the chest. The wind all-at-once escaped his subordinate’s lungs and he crumpled over into a shaking ball. Trying to breathe hurt in the worst way possible, but the heat in his lungs sent him straight up to heaven.

Schlatt lifted Quackity up and kissed him again. In a fit of animalistic instinct, the pair grabbed hold of each other, squeezing and sliding together in a tangle of limbs. Schlatt pushed his tongue inside Quackity’s mouth, earning a low moan from his Vice President. Quackity hadn’t felt this elated since their relationship began, their hands searching across each other’s bodies greedily.

Leaning into his superior, Quackity tried to grind against him out of desperation. The outline of the goat-hybrid’s bulge pressed into his thigh as if mocking him. Schlatt pulled away to catch his breath. Quackity attempted to chase the kiss, but his lover kept him kneeling, holding him down by the tips of his shoulders. With a refined practice, Schlatt stood and unzipped his fly, pulling his cock from his pants.

Quackity couldn’t remember the last time he’d really admired it. It was far above average, uncut, and especially thick at the base. Schlatt pulled him in by the back of his neck and held him there. His cock rested, heavy against Quackity’s cheek, smearing precum across his tanned skin.  
“Make sure you take the whole thing, just like you used to,” Schlatt said, his tone light and almost sing-song.

When Quackity hesitated, Schlatt leaned back and slapped his face much harder this time. The sound was shrill and set off a trail of fireworks down his spine. “You gonna be a good boy now?” Quackity nodded, feverish with arousal. He started at the base, licking along the entire length several times before wrapping his lips around the tip, sucking it down as far as it could go.

He pulled back to gasp for breath, bringing his head back down to take even more. Eventually, the length hit the back of his throat. The burning in his mouth and the ache in his jaw only grew more intoxicating with time.

Bobbing his head faster, the man above him growled with impatience. Sliding off his beanie, Schlatt gripped his hair with force and held his head still. “Fuck… You’re way too slow,” he muttered as he pulled back and slammed all the way into his throat.

It pushed back deeper than Quackity could ever remember taking it, his nose pressed into his superior’s pubes as tears gathered in his eyes. Schlatt continued fucking into his mouth, holding his head with an iron-gripped vice. The pain grew potent, the feeling of breathlessness causing Quackity’s toes to curl. His eyes rolled back in his head as Schlatt thrust inside one last time, spilling into his mouth. He had no choice but to swallow it all.

Schlatt panted and held his subordinate still as he came down from his high. Quackity slammed a free hand into his ribs as a plea for air. The desperate groans of the man below him sent blissful vibrations through Schlatt’s cock and straight down to the tips of his toes.

When Schlatt finally pulled out, his lover coughed, the excess cum and spit dripping down his chin. Quackity’s breath heaved, his shoulders trembling as his eyes traced up to President Schlatt’s face in a lazy haze. “My god, look at you, Alex…” Schlatt whispered, leaning down to place a gentle hand under his chin, “You’re gonna make me hard again, just staring at me like that.”

Quackity whined, glancing down at Schlatt's cock. To his surprise, it was already just as erect as before. “You’re gonna have to take some responsibility for this.” He lifted Quackity by his sides and placed him on top of his desk.

The cool surface of the dark wood only served to remind him just how hot and feverish he was. Schlatt leaned over him, pushing his back down against it as his lips traced over his neck. When the man below him tried to grind against his frame, Schlatt bit down harshly into his shoulder.

Quackity stilled at the pain, his cock twitching against his lover’s stomach.  
“My god,” he groaned as Schlatt unbuttoned his shirt and tugged it open, “Schlatt… You—” The goat-hybrid bit him again when his lover’s hips began to move. “Please let me—” he begged, gasping as his superior lapped at the exposed skin.  
“You’ll get your turn.”

Schlatt sucked at the sensitive areas of his chest until they were raw and red. Quackity shifted once more, earning him a harsh bite to his nipple. He cried out, sweat beading against his forehead. With a huff of frustration, Schlatt loosened his tie and pulled it free. Shedding his jacket, he tossed them both to the floor and unzipped his lover’s fly.

Quackity sighed in relief as Schlatt pushed his fingers under the ends of his pants and slid them off in one smooth motion. He laid across the desk and trembled in his navy boxers, his skin bitten and marked, his dress shirt slipping from one shoulder. Schlatt drank in the sight. “God, you have no idea what you do to me,” he mused, breathless.

Leaning down, he captured his lips in a rough kiss, biting and nipping the side of his lover’s mouth, leaving it bruised and aching. Schlatt reached over, pulling a bottle of lube from inside his desk drawer and setting it down beside them. Quackity glanced at it and shivered, hoping Schlatt wouldn’t be too impatient to prepare him this time.

Schlatt dug his nails into his lover’s smooth, caramel-toned thighs as he kissed around his navel. Reaching up, Quackity traced a gentle finger down one of his superior’s horns while petting a fluffy ear with the other. Schlatt stopped short and glanced over, locking eyes with him.

Quackity nervously continued, motioning his thumb and forefinger over the goat ears in a soothing circle. Closing his eyes, Schlatt pressed his head further into them like a needy cat. When his lover’s hands let go, Schlatt dove back in, nipping at his inner thighs and ghosting the tips of his fingers over the bulge in Quackity’s boxers.

Quackity lifted his hips to meet the hand above him, only to receive a cruel bite to his inner thigh. He shuddered, gasping and scratching at the hard surface at his back.  
“Schlatt!” he cried, his cock leaking, strained against his underwear, “Please…”

“Please what?” the man above him asked, feigning curiosity. Quick fingers looped under his waistband, sliding them down in an agonizingly slow motion.  
“Take off my—” Quackity keened in frustration. “P-please! Just fuck me, Schlatt!”

In an instant, his boxers were gone and his weeping erection sprung free. His mind was dazed, so clouded with arousal and relief that he didn’t notice when his superior opened the bottle to pour lube onto his fingers. He jolted at the gentle pressure of a finger poking against his entrance.

Leaning down, Schlatt kissed his neck, running the finger in circles.  
“You ready, princess?” he asked, a hunger married to the low rumble of his voice.  
“God, yes.” A finger pressed inside him, all the way down to the knuckle.

Quackity missed when Schlatt would tease him like this. When he would prep him and kiss him from the tips of his toes to the end of his forehead. The intrusion felt uncomfortable, as it usually did. Adding a second finger, it stung a bit, but Quackity lavished in it. Schlatt pumped his fingers in and out, scissoring them and pushing them in even farther.

Quackity writhed when they ghosted over his prostate, a tingling sensation exploding across his skin like a wave. Schlatt smiled against his chest.  
“Found it.” He brushed over it several more times, causing Quackity to cry out.

Pushing his hips forward, he tried to fuck himself down onto Schlatt’s fingers. Each attempt became more disappointing than the last as Schlatt purposely moved them just out of reach. “My, my. Aren’t we impatient today…”

Schlatt kissed his neck, his hot breath tickling his ear. “Relax, Alex.” Quackity forced himself to sit still as Schlatt added a third finger, pumping it in and out of him. Twisting his hand and brushing the spot again, Quackity’s hips moved on their own. Schlatt dug his nails into his lover’s side painfully, holding him in place as he experimentally circled his fingers.

“Schlatt! Please! More, _more_ —” he begged, squirming in place, “Just fuck me already! I-I can’t—” Schlatt growled, taking his fingers out as he opened the bottle and poured more of the clear fluid into his palm. In a rushed motion, he pumped his hand over his own cock with a pleased sigh, lube dripping down the side of his wrist.

Positioning himself at Quackity’s entrance, he leaned down and kissed his subordinate one more time before slowly pushing inside. At halfway in, Quackity winced at the fullness as he arched his back and gasped.  
“It’s okay, baby. Relax,” Schlatt said, pushing the rest of the way in until he was snug against his hips.

Quackity let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding as he adjusted to the size. The man above him groaned as he grinded inside him shallowly. “Can I move?” Schlatt asked, breathless. Hearing him ask for permission sent Quackity’s head straight to the moon.

Heart thrumming in his ears, face burning red, he locked eyes with his President and nodded. Schlatt pulled out halfway and slammed back in with a loud grunt. Quackity’s eyes shut tight as he bit down on his shirt sleeve.

After a few more thrusts, the goat-hybrid noticed and pulled his lover’s arm away from his mouth, pinning it down against the desk. “Stop that shit, I want to hear you,” he grumbled, slamming back in. Quackity tried in vain to quell the noises in his throat but it soon became difficult.

With each thrust, a brilliant heat burned in the core of his waist as pleasure shot up the base of his spine. Important thoughts turned fuzzy and were cast away, his eyes falling shut in bliss. High-pitched whines and whimpers soon broke free of his throat each time his superior’s hips snapped up to meet his. An obscene slapping noise filled the room, throwing Quackity’s senses through a loop.

The pace grew more brutal and brisk, Schlatt’s fingers digging into the sides of his hips as desperate cries escaped his throat. “God, you’re so tight,” Schlatt groaned, pounding into him. Quackity gasped at the feeling of his superior’s cock brushing against his prostate with every thrust, the sounds he made causing the man above him to drive into him even faster.

“Schlatt, I-I’m—” Before the phrase could even leave his lips, he spilled out onto his stomach with a loud moan. His legs twitched as he fell limp below his lover, panting and seeing stars. Schlatt only lasted a minute longer, cumming inside him with a final thrust. He rode out his orgasm before completely stilling, hips pressed tightly against Quackity’s.

When he pulled out, he watched with bated breath as his cum dripped out between his subordinate's legs. His mouth ran dry as his words got caught in his throat. Just as Quackity was beginning to recover, Schlatt looped an arm under him, flipping him over so that he was lying flat on his stomach against the desk.

Quackity yelped in surprise as the goat-hybrid lifted a hand and slapped him hard on the ass. His head spun as the stinging returned to his skin. “Schlatt, what are you—” Another slap, then another.

Tears welled up in his eyes as he panted, his hips swaying and squirming like a pathetic animal in heat. Without any warning, Schlatt positioned himself and slammed back inside his lover, his cock just as hard as before. He leaned down, biting the back of Quackity’s neck as he pulled out and pushed back in.  
“I’ll never get tired of you, princess,” he uttered, striking his subordinate’s backside again.

Quackity choked at the feeling, his ass glowing a dazzling cherry red.  
“Schlatt, I—I can’t cum anymore… Please, I—” Another vicious smack. Quackity cried out, rolling his hips back despite himself. Betraying his words, he felt another orgasm fast approaching.

With a few more rough thrusts, Schlatt slammed into his subordinate’s prostate head-on and Quackity’s vision flashed white. His eyes rolled back in his head as he trembled, spilling onto the side of the desk. His legs twitched violently, threatening to give out from under him.

Schlatt went even faster, groaning directly against his ear as he came inside him for a second time. Instead of pulling out, Schlatt stayed sheathed in his heat, biting the back of his shoulders and grinding shallowly into him. Quackity’s limbs quivered as he whined, legs going numb as the dull ache of overstimulation took over. “Schlatt, please… I feel like I’m gonna—like I’m gonna explode,” he said, voice hoarse and spent.

Schlatt reached over and pulled his hair violently, kissing up the side of his neck. It felt like forever that Quackity’s mind was buzzing as he laid with Schlatt still filling him, the goat-hybrid holding him down in a grip that would surely leave bruises. When Schlatt suddenly pulled out halfway, only to slam back inside, Quackity’s mind went a stark white. He could feel it now; his lover got hard once more while still inside him.

With each new thrust, it was as if he was being shocked all over his skin, sparks zipping through his bones with pain and pleasure. Quackity came almost instantly, his entire body shuddering through a dry orgasm. Schlatt was still going, fucking into him as if it was their first time that evening. Quackity practically screamed at the sensation, desperately scraping at the desk surface with his nails. “Schlatt! U-ugh… Please!”

Head dizzy, nerves drunk on sparkling wine, Schlatt came inside him again.  
“This is your fault, princess,” he said, pressing kisses into Quackity’s spine, “You were gone for so long, I had no one there to satisfy me.” He traced his hands over his lover’s damp stomach, trailing his fingers up to pinch his nipples.

The man below him mewled softly, swaying his hips against him. That was all he needed to get hard again. Lightheaded, Quackity panted, gasping at the regained fullness inside him. “You ran away from me, just like that. You have no idea how much I missed you.”

Pulling out almost completely, he slammed back in, pushing Quackity’s head down into the desk. “I knew you’d come crawling back to me, you filthy slut. You missed this, didn’t you?” The man beneath him whimpered, babbling nonsense words as Schlatt fucked him.

He stilled suddenly, striking his lover on the ass again. “Tell me you missed this!” he demanded as Quackity drooled and writhed below him.  
“I—I missed this! I missed it so much, sir!” Quackity replied, voice wavering as his ears rang.

With one last thrust inside, Schlatt came again. His hips shook as he rode out his last orgasm, grinding inside his lover before pulling out completely. Schlatt’s cum poured out of his subordinate again, trickling down his inner thighs and gradually pooling on the floor below him. Quackity’s legs buckled under him suddenly and he slid off the desk, collapsing to the floor in a tangled, heaving mess. Schlatt stared down at him, sweat dripping from his forehead as he struggled to catch his breath.

Tucking his cock back in his suit pants, he kneeled down in front of his subordinate and tightly grabbed his jaw. Breathless, Quackity locked eyes with him, his face a pleasant red glow.  
“Don’t you ever leave me again, Alex,” he said, eyes drinking in the sight of him, his words laced with cyanide. He brushed his lover’s hair with his other hand before harshly tugging it.

Quackity winced. “Do you understand?” He nodded. Schlatt kissed him. “Good.”

Standing to leave, the goat-hybrid collected his tie and suit jacket from the ground. As he opened the door, he stilled and tapped at the brass handle in thought. “Quackity?”  
“Yes, Schlatt?”

Quackity’s stomach turned cold at the sight of his superior’s change in composure. The way his back straightened, the way his head tilted to the side, the way his foot tapped idly on the polished wooden floorboards.  
“If you ever meet with the exiled again…” he began, an unseen smile decrying his face, “I’ll make sure you become great company for Tubbo in hell.”

Quackity’s eyes grew wide with horror. The chill in his bones froze his skin, his stomach dropping at the implication. A red camellia’s promise.

With one last glance back at his lover, Schlatt left the room, closing the door behind him.


End file.
